When I finally woke up, it was with an earth-shattering hangover and a note pinned to my chest. My first thought was that God must have taken issue with the things I’d done last night and inflicted this headache on me as punishment, not “Why is this note here?"
After relieving myself in what I hoped was a bathroom, I read it:
“Dave,
Sorry about last night. There’s 5,000 in small bills in the duffel bag by the recycling. Take it, and lay low for a while. I’m sending guys over to take care of the mess, hopefully the cops won’t be around until afterward.
Shelly
P.S. Apologize to your mother for me.”
I had no idea what the hell she was talking about, so I went to get milk. As I looked out into my backyard, I noticed someone had thought it wise to drain my swimming pool.
With a sense of sinking dread, I walked up to the edge and retched in disgust.
There, in all their wrinkled saggy glory, were my parents, having very loud, very disgusting sex.
It was the last thing you’d expect to find in a swimming pool.